The Lancaster Men (16 page)

“But I’m already here,” Shari reasoned. “Besides, I can read you another chapter of the Christie novel.”

“It isn’t necessary,” her mother declared. “You should be spending the evening with Whit.”

“I’m sure Whit understands that, under the circumstances,
I’d rather spend the time with you,” she countered, and sent Whit a challenging look that dared him to refute her claim, or question her reasons.

“Yes, I quite understand.” Dryness rustled through his voice.

During the next three days, no mention was made of the ring, although there were several references to the supposed engagement by various members of the family. Shari reacted to none of them while she managed to tactfully avoid being alone with Whit, using one pretext or another.

She did it partly out of self-defense, cognizant of how vulnerable she was to his male persuasions but her main thought was to take a stand and not weaken it by protesting too much. Again, Shari used her mother as a shield.

A light knock at the door of her mother’s room lifted Shari’s gaze from the envelopes she was addressing; responses to the many “get well” wishes her mother had received. She glanced at her mother, sitting in one of the armchairs.

“Yes, come in.” Elizabeth granted the caller permission
to enter, and quickly removed her reading glasses, too vain to be seen wearing them.

Mrs. Youngblood walked in, balancing a tray in her hands. “I thought you might enjoy some freshly baked pecan rolls with your coffee this morning.”

“I think you’re trying to fatten us up,” Shari accused with a laugh and appreciatively sniffed the yeasty aroma of warm rolls. “They smell delicious.”

“I have some mail for you, too, Mrs. Lancaster,” the housekeeper said as she set the tray on the round table next to Elizabeth’s chair. “It’s beside the cups.”

Laying down her pen, Shari left the antique escritoire and walked over to pour the coffee for the two of them while her mother went through the small stack of envelopes. She added a lump of sugar to her mother’s cup.

“More letters to answer?” Shari asked and ruefully shook her head. “At this rate, Mother, you’re going to need to hire a social secretary to keep up with all your correspondence.”

“Everyone has been so thoughtful,” was the absent reply as Elizabeth cast a frowning glance at the housekeeper. “There wasn’t anything else in the mail for me?”

“No, ma’m.” Mrs. Youngblood paused before leaving the room. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, this is perfect,” Elizabeth assured her but Shari caught the faint sigh, nearly lost under the sound of the closing door.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I ordered a bridal book and catalog over the telephone and asked them to rush it here,” her
mother explained. “They thought I should receive it in a week or less. I was hoping it would be in today’s mail.”

“I see,” Shari murmured and concentrated on stirring the coffee.

“Have you given any thought to the style of wedding gown you’d like?” Elizabeth tipped her head to one side with curious interest.

“No.” Simple, straightforward answers had proved to be best.

“So much of the choice depends on the time of year when the wedding takes place,” her mother admitted. “Have you and Whit discussed a date at all? This autumn? Or were you considering a winter wedding?”

“Nothing definite has been decided,” Shari replied. As far as she was concerned, not even the engagement was definite.

“There is a great deal that has to be done beforehand. It can’t be left to the last minute. You and Whit need to sit down and make some plans.”

“Yes, Mother.” Which really meant nothing.

“Frederick can give you away,” Elizabeth began the planning for her. “I imagine you’ll want your two friends from college in your bridal party.”

“Perhaps.” Shari took a bite of the warm pecan roll, its sweet, caramel topping coating her lips. She licked it away and began chewing. “Mmm, Mom, you really have to eat one of these.” It was difficult to talk and chew at the same time but she managed it, because she wanted to change the subject. “They are so good.”

“You can’t even pick out your wedding colors
since they should be appropriate to the season,” her mother realized with vague dismay.

“Please, will you stop talking about the wedding?” Shari asked with fraying patience. “It’s probably going to be a long time away, and a lot of things might happen between now and then.”

“Aren’t you and Whit getting along?” The concern was instant. “You haven’t quarreled again? The two of you used to get along so well together. Sometimes, I had the feeling you worshiped him.”

“I was much younger then,” Shari replied, aware that she had regarded Whit with a certain adoration when she was growing up.

Perhaps she had been more amenable to taking orders then. But she wasn’t about to marry any man who tossed her a ring and informed her they were getting married—even Whit.

“Then you have argued with him?” her mother concluded from Shari’s ambiguous statement.

“Mother, you know that Whit never argues,” she reminded her dryly.

The knock at the door was a welcome interruption of the conversation. Shari picked up the china cup of coffee to take a sip.

“Yes, come in.” Elizabeth repeated her earlier phrase.

This time when the door opened, Whit entered. He was dressed for the fields, wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt that exposed his tanned and muscled forearms and snug-fitting brown denim pants that were tucked inside his calf-high leather boots, a modernized image of a plantation owner.
His wind-rumpled dark hair glinted with gold lights put there by long hours in the sun. All of Shari’s normal body actions were suddenly scattered to the wind by the sight of him.

“Whit, this is a pleasant surprise,” her mother greeted him with open delight. “We were just talking about you.”

“Yes, speak of the devil,” Shari murmured to conceal the havoc his presence was creating with her senses.

Whit ignored her comment, but his glance held a hint of mockery. “I thought I’d find Shari with you,” he said to immediately establish she was the one he had come to see. “She’s been hiding in here with you a lot lately.”

“It’s not hiding when you know where I am,” Shari countered.

“Maybe ‘hiding’ is the wrong word,” he conceded indifferently. “But sometimes I wonder if you’re not afraid of me.”

“Why should I be afraid of you?” She laughed to show how ridiculous the idea was.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Without knowing why, Shari felt she was on shaky ground. “Would you like a warm pecan roll? Mrs. Youngblood just brought them up.” She picked up the plate to offer him one.

“No, thanks. I have to watch my figure,” Whit replied facetiously. “I came to tell you that your engagement present has finally arrived.”

“My engagement present?” Shari stared at him blankly. He hadn’t said anything about it before.

“Yes. Will you come outside and see it?” The tilt of his head was faintly challenging.

Confused by the situation, Shari didn’t know what she should do. If she refused with her mother sitting there, a hundred questions would have to be answered. But it was really her curiosity that insisted she had to see what he’d bought her. After that gaudy engagement ring, she was prepared for just about anything.

“Naturally, I’m going with you to see it,” she replied as if her decision had never been in question.

“Come along then,” Whit prodded.

The look in his eyes started a wild fluttering in her stomach. Instead of hurrying as she was told, Shari took her time setting the plate of rolls on the tray and removing the napkin from her lap. When she finally stood up, she glanced at her mother and smiled.

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” she promised.

“Don’t count on it, Elizabeth,” Whit advised and took Shari by the arm to lead her out of the room.

In the hallway outside her mother’s room, Shari stopped to obtain an explanation of his parting remark to her mother. She didn’t like the sound of it.

“Why did you indicate to Mother that I wouldn’t be coming back right away?” Shari confronted him with her question, eyeing him suspiciously.

There continued to be a hint of complacent amusement in his expression. It glinted in his dark eyes and faintly curved the line of his mouth.

“I just have a hunch this will take longer than you think,” was all he would say in response.

Whit placed a hand on the small of her back to direct her to the staircase.

The warmth of his touch radiated through her body. It was always like this. She seemed to come truly alive only when she was with him. If things had been different, she probably would have been clinging to him ecstatically at this moment.

“Why do we have to go outside?” she asked, sliding him a glance as they walked down the stairs. “Can’t you bring the present inside?”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea.” A smile lurked at the corners of his mouth but he wouldn’t give her any hints.

“I know you didn’t buy me a car. I already have one,” Shari said, speaking her thoughts aloud. Then she shot him a look of suspicion. “You aren’t taking me outside to force an engagement ring on me, are you? Because it won’t work. I don’t really want it or your present.”

“You’ll want the present.” His confidence was absolute.

Totally confused, Shari couldn’t think of a single thing he could have bought her—and especially one that he knew in advance she wanted. At the bottom of the stairs, he guided her to the wide front door.

As they walked outside, a summer wind tangled itself in her black hair. Shari stopped at the top of the steps to push the strands away from her eyes and look around. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, certainly nothing that might be a present.

“Where is it?” She turned to glance at Whit.

“Over there.” His hand motioned to her right.

At first she didn’t see what he was indicating. His horse, Banner, was standing in the shade of a tree, all saddled and bridled. That wasn’t unusual. And Shari certainly didn’t think that Whit intended to present his own horse to her as a gift.

The golden chestnut turned its dish-shaped head in the direction of the house and whickered, catching the scent of its master. When it shifted position, Shari noticed a second horse that had been blocked from her view.

For a full second, she stared at the gray gelding, certain she was seeing things. She didn’t dare believe what she was seeing, and turned her searching eyes on Whit.

“Is it …?” Her hopes were raised so high, she was afraid to even ask.

A smile spread lazily across his mouth. “It’s Rebel,” he confirmed.

Her chin started to tremble as her eyes welled with tears. She was too overcome with happiness to say a word. She didn’t understand how he had known.

“Aren’t you going to go say ‘hello’?” Whit gently prompted her.

His question released Shari from the immobility that had claimed her. She ran down the steps and across the lawn to the shade tree where the horses were tied. The gray gelding turned its head and snorted, pricking its ears at her approach.

Shari slowed to walk the last few steps to the horse’s head. It stretched out its gray-black nose to her, blowing softly. Her smile tightened with emotion as she reached up to scratch the gray forehead.
Beneath its peppered forelock, dark, luminous eyes looked back at her.

“Rebel, it really is you,” she whispered and laughed when the gray tried to nip at the sleeve of her blouse. “You haven’t changed a bit, you ornery devil.”

She shifted her position to stand to one side of his head and stroke the horse’s sleek, muscled neck. There was still a part of her that couldn’t believe the gelding was back. She wrapped her arms around its neck and pressed her face against its dark mane, not caring if it seemed foolish or childish. A warm, horsey smell filled her senses.

Rebel didn’t care much for such displays of affection and tossed his head in protest, rattling the bridle bit in his mouth. So many memories crowded into her mind that she couldn’t sort them through.

When the gray horse attempted to sidle away from her, Shari loosened the circle of her arms. She couldn’t argue against the gelding’s feisty spirit that didn’t like being held too tightly. The horse was stubborn and headstrong—like her—Whit had said so many times.

“I wouldn’t want you any other way, Rebel,” Shari murmured and rubbed its wide chest to calm the gelding down.

“Do you think you can remember how to ride that bundle of trouble?” The low question came from behind her.

Shari glanced once at Whit, then moved to untie the reins. A second challenge wasn’t required as she looped the reins over the gray’s neck.

“If I don’t remember, you can pick me up when I fall off,” Shari declared with a reckless smile. “You should know how. You’ve done it enough times.”

With one hand gripping the reins and a handful of mane, Shari hopped to reach the stirrup and swung into the saddle. Rebel pulled eagerly at the bit, his iron hooves impatiently beating the ground. Shari held him in check a few seconds longer until she saw that Whit was ready to mount his chestnut horse. Then she relaxed the pressure of the bit. The gray horse didn’t need any other encouragement.

Within two strides, the gelding was in a canter and stretching out to increase it to a run. It didn’t seem to Shari that she needed to guide the horse. It was racing with its ears pricked forward as if it was eager to revisit the old trails. She let him have his head and the horse picked the open lane to the tobacco fields, the very route they had always used as a starting point.

Another set of hooves pounded the packed ground behind her. Shari glanced over her shoulder and saw that Whit was gaining on them with his flashy chestnut. Out of sheer fun, she turned the ride into a race, urging Rebel faster and laughing at the wind that tried to whip the air from her lungs.

The thunder of racing hooves hammered in her ears, driving its own brand of excitement into her being. The network of farm roads connecting the different fields were alternately sunlit and shaded. Flecks of foam from the gray’s lathered neck were thrown back on Shari. The gray’s stride wasn’t as effortless as it had been starting out.